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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24619225">To Know is to Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynpeaches/pseuds/honeynpeaches'>honeynpeaches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Home is Built One Brick at a Time [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confused Nero (Devil May Cry), Domestic Fluff, Establishing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Multi, Polyamory, kyrie is the glue that keeps this clueless family together, nero is sensitive but won't say so, nico is...you know.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:15:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24619225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynpeaches/pseuds/honeynpeaches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>know<br/>/nō/<br/>verb<br/>1.<br/>be aware of through observation, inquiry, or information.<br/>Similar: be aware, realize, be conscious<br/>2.<br/>have developed a relationship with (someone) through meeting and spending time with them; be familiar or friendly with.<br/><i>Oxford Dictionary</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero/Nico (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nico (Devil May Cry), Nero/Nico (Devil May Cry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Home is Built One Brick at a Time [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Know is to Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! This takes place after my fic "Home," so I recommend reading that first! It's not totally needed, but this story does reference some of the events from that one! Anyways, I really love how sweet and soft these three can be with each other and Clueless NeroTM is such a good flavor.I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No cream. No sugar. Place one third of a cinnamon stick in with the coffee grounds before brewing. (Cinnamon powder works in a pinch, but it doesn’t give the strongest flavor.) Nico likes it bold and she likes it black. That’s what Kyrie’s observed. She seems to be a woman  of extremes: Slickly polished guns, a pack of smokes a day, top shelf whiskey, or if not the bottom shelf will do. She’s loud and boisterous, cursing up a storm in the garage where the kids can’t hear. She’s silent, thoughtful, sketching something new in a notebook almost full. Nico is a woman who will have an opinion on just about anything you can ask her. But she’s not so serious about most of it. She’ll drop everything to fight you, or comfort you. </p><p>	She understands heartbreak and anger. </p><p>	Kyrie has always felt the need to be so soft and sweet. To nurture and support when the world feels as though it's coming to an end. Even when she was angry, she had to be quiet and poised. Even when the beast within her grew fangs and wailed at loss, at desperation. With the Order, everything was appearances. Everything was neat. Which means nothing was. She thinks about this while brewing a pot of coffee just for Nico, who has been up all night tinkering with something in the garage. The sunlight is new and warm through the window and Kyrie watches the beam fall across the counter. It rests, she feels, lays down at her fingertips like a cat stretched across the floor. The coffee maker gurgles to life and Kyrie contemplates fragility. </p><p>	That’s what people see in her, isn’t it? Maybe that’s even how Nero saw her, at first. There are roles to be played and, especially in the church, she knew her place and rose to every standard. A gentle smile, a beautiful voice, a practiced guiding hand. Always work hard, always do as you’re told, and never stray from the path laid carefully before you. Maybe that’s what brings her to Nero: The loud-mouthed boy with a gun in the Order of the Swords. They’ve known each other for so long that he understands her. Not just her role in the church, but her. He sees her in a way that only he can. He offers the hope of an alternative, a life worth living that doesn’t require meeting every expectation. And Nico…</p><p>	Nico screams across their sky like a firework: Loud, bright, and impossible to look away from.</p><p>	“Mmm...Mornin’...” Speak of the devil.</p><p>Nico drags herself into the kitchen, hair in a messy bun with an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth. She’s in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt stolen from Nero, tied into a tight knot at her navel. Her glasses are off, tucked into her shirt collar as she lays her head on Kyrie’s shoulder and closes her eyes. </p><p>“Good morning, Nico.” Kyrie giggles, “Did you have a productive night? I’m making you some coffee.” </p><p>“Awww damn, you’re the best.” Nico wraps her arms around Kyrie, hugging her from the side. It may be an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep standing up, Kyrie can’t be sure. “Ahhh…’m almost done with a new prototype.” </p><p>“You’ll have to show us when it’s ready!” Kyrie smiles and reaches to pat one of Nico’s hands. As a passing thought, she notices Nico is...well, she’s not wearing a bra. She tries not to linger on this fact, feeling her face flush just the faintest amount as Nico presses in for one final squeeze before moving to lean against the counter. Take a breath, in and out. Keep looking at the coffee maker. She won’t notice a thing. It’s not the first time she’s found herself sorting through something like this. She’s spent time wondering at what could possibly be wrong with her.<br/>
Then the formless feelings came together in front of her one day. </p><p>Nico isn’t a woman anyone would describe as gentle. Maybe even less so than Nero, as rough around the edges as he is. Kyrie’s always seen his heart: The goodness, the softness hidden inside. Try as he might to keep up the tough punk act, she knows what’s at his core. Nico, though, is a slightly different beast. Nero hated her at first, and Kyrie couldn’t entirely blame him at the time. But there’s something inside Nico that Kyrie saw glimmers of from the start. She’s loud, a chain smoker, covered in tattoos and ready to look a demon in the face and tell it to go fuck itself. But she also gets this cute little stutter when she’s excited or nervous and her hands are so steady and comforting when she paints Kyrie’s nails. </p><p>Nico was the first to smile and put a gun in Kyrie’s hands. The weight of it was jarring, she recalls. Nero always swings his around like it’s nothing. Learn how to hit a target, how to store a weapon safely from the kids but easily within reach if something happens when we’re gone. That had been Nico’s suggestion, as scary as the concept sounded. Kyrie doesn’t like guns. She doesn’t think that will ever change. They’re destructive and dangerous by nature. But in this world, she’s chosen the company of devils and that comes with a risk. Nico is the first to see her as responsible for carrying that burden with them equally. </p><p>She is also the first to get Kyrie shitfaced.</p><p>In the present morning, Kyrie watches Nico pour herself a cup of coffee. It’s a smooth practiced motion, even when she’s half asleep. She pours one for Kyrie too, and slides the sugar bowl across the counter for her. Kyrie takes it with a grateful nod, feeling none too different from how she had that night: Flattered and glad for the familiar company.</p><p>It had just been the two of them. Nero was still with Dante at the Devil May Cry headquarters. He wasn’t due home until sometime the next morning. The kids were all in bed, sound asleep after a long day at the park. Nico had helped them all build kites and it set them running in circles all day while the girls watched from a blanket in the shade. Nico had looked...pleased. Proud of the kids’ imagination and ambition. Kyrie had warmed at the sight of her smile and watched as Nico idly sketched the scene. Her hands looked different that night, wrapped around the neck of a liquor bottle rather than a pencil. But Kyrie still felt an inexplicable urge to touch them.</p><p>“It’s the good stuff,” Nico had grinned, “But I bought some cola for mixin’ if you’re worried about the taste. Er..if you wanted some, that is. It’d be rude if I didn’t offer.” </p><p>Nico seemed to only be concerned about rudeness with Kyrie. </p><p>“I...I’ve actually never touched the stuff before.” Kyrie had admitted with a small embarrassed smile, “We didn’t have anything like it with The Order. It wasn’t allowed.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah...y-yeah, of course. Sorry, Miss Kyrie.” </p><p>“No, no, don’t apologize.” A pause, “You know what, let’s...let’s try it. I’ve been trying all sorts of things since then, so I don’t see why not?” </p><p>“True,” Nico snorts, tipping the bottle with a practiced hand. “You even have a few pairs of pants now. A right rebel you’ve turned into.” </p><p>Kyrie laughed. </p><p>It tasted terrible. Even mixed with soda, it burned all the way down. She nearly coughed up the first sip. Nico, flustered, assured her that she didn’t have to keep drinking. But Kyrie had set her expression, determined, and gave it another try. She was tired of being policed. She was tired of being told how to act and who to be. This one was for The Order. </p><p>“No, no. I’m good. I promise.” She reassured Nico, smiling. “To living our own lives.” </p><p>Not much later they were tangled on the couch together, channel surfing late night TV reruns. Nico’s curls were soft as Kyrie ran her hands through her hair. Her head was on her lap and every freckle on her face reminded Kyrie of the distant stars in the sky. Everything felt slower, easier, like they were in a liminal space. Nico hummed and closed her eyes, drunk on whiskey and attention. Gently, gently, Kyrie cupped Nico’s cheek and was rewarded with a relaxed sigh. Her lips were full and they looked so soft and for a moment Kyrie felt something rise and ache inside her. But then The Golden Girls was back on and Nico was opening her eyes again and everything marched forward. </p><p>Kyrie doesn’t remember much after that, just waking up in an empty bed and feeling hollow. </p><p>She can’t help but linger on the image of Nico, relaxed with her head in her lap, as she sips her coffee. It had been so close to perfect, if only Nero had been there too. She’s almost certain Nero would agree.<br/>
She isn’t blind. </p><p> </p><p>It’s stayed with Nero for weeks now, the image of Nico sprawled on the ground. The image of Nico hurt. The familiarity of failure in his bones. Despite all of her insistence that she was fine, Nero can’t stop playing those moments over in his head. He’s worried it until the ragged desperate edges grow worn and smooth. Disappointment in himself is a song he knows by heart, every pause and crescendo. Why is it bothering him so much? It makes him think of Credo, which is a thought he always needs to halt in its place for his own good. Kyrie swears she’s not angry with him about it. But how could she not be? </p><p>Maybe he wants her to be angry because he feels that it’s what he deserves? </p><p>He has to halt that thought, too. </p><p>But the question remains: Why is it bothering him so much? When had Nico of all people begun to occupy a similar space in his heart? Was it similar? He’s feeling around in the dark, tracing the contours of something he can’t quite recognize with uncertain fingertips. What is this? </p><p>That night, he finds her asleep in the garage, slumped at a table. It’s a quarter past midnight and when they hadn’t heard her come back inside, Kyrie sent him out on a welfare check. With a sigh, he shakes his head. Her hand is still loosely placed over a screwdriver. Gently, Nero drapes his jacket over her shoulders. She’s working on Red Queen’s engine, has been most of the evening after dinner. Nico is enthusiastic and wild, eager to rebuild stronger and better even when she isn’t capable of wielding the sword herself. He knows she won’t say it, but he can tell that beyond her raw curiosity and drive to tinker, she wants to help. </p><p>Nero tenses, just a little, That Image conjured once more. Does she have to keep putting herself in danger? Must she keep running headlong into risky jobs just to have the chance to catalog a new demon like some kind of reckless zoologist? It’s...it’s irritating! And irrational! It always sets him on edge. But...when she beams at him from her sketchbook with that slightly crooked smile, he can feel his annoyance with her dull. He hates it. Who the fuck does she think she is?</p><p>Her sleeping figure is familiar to him, shoulders rising and falling gently. He remembers a night they spent together, the three of them, just watching movies. They’d cracked open a couple of bottles of wine and Kyrie and Nico were flush-faced and giggly. Kyrie had thrown a blanket over the three of them and before too long, he had both girls asleep on his shoulders. </p><p>It had been so warm. </p><p>Now, in the present, he glances at Nico’s sleeping form. She’s wearing a shirt borrowed from him, sleeves rolled up and middle tied in a knot at her belly button. It reveals the curve of her waist, dipping down to her hips and—</p><p>He looks away. </p><p>She always does that; turns his shirts into some kind of crop top. She comes in here and changes everything. Like she owns the place. </p><p>Still, he turns the lights out for her. Maybe she can get some rest. </p><p>A few days pass. Nico continues her best efforts to pick fights with him at every turn, always swinging into darling politeness as soon as Kyrie enters the room. It really is like flipping a switch with her, and it makes Nero’s head spin. One thing doesn’t settle quite right, though. Well, make that two things. Every once in a while, Nico gets this indecipherable look on her face and then urgently excuses herself for a smoke. It never seems to happen at any particular time or for any particular reason. But she always seems frantic. Something is on Kyrie’s mind, too. But she isn’t speaking up about it. He can see it in the way she stares down at her hands for a little too long during beats of silence, like she’s considering something. He sees it in how much longer it takes her to fall asleep, even in his arms. He sees it in her eyes, even when she doesn’t think he can. Nero wants to ask, but he’s not sure how. The last thing he wants is to push her into a conversation that she isn’t ready for, but it is starting to drive him a little crazy. Still, he can’t rush it. </p><p>So instead, he decides to support Kyrie in other ways: Helping around the house. After a long day of laundry, sweeping, and scrubbing the bathroom, the sun threatens to dip below the horizon. </p><p>Nico flounces past, smacking him playfully on the shoulder, “Hey, dumbass. Don’t forget I got the chicken out to thaw for ya earlier.” </p><p>“Hey--” He pauses, dropping the matter of being smacked, “Oh shit! Dinner!” </p><p>Nico snorts, “Oh don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’ll help ya out.” </p><p>Nero’s learned how to feed himself. Every adult should, though that’s certainly not a value he’s learned from his uncle. Still, he’s never really seen Nico in the kitchen much unless she’s serving up a mean bacon and eggs. He hadn’t been sure she could cook anything but breakfast. She’s donned one of Kyrie’s aprons, but she’s saved the pink one for Nero. Nico is focused and giving it her all as she peers at the recipe, like she does with absolutely everything. He thinks back to her working on Red Queen, furrowing her brows and getting so lost in the work that he had to place a hand on her shoulder to snap her out of it. She’s so smart, her fingers deft and gentle despite doing so much work with her hands. He admires her hair, pulled into a ponytail to reveal the nape of her neck. Her lower back, with a tattoo she once said she got right when she turned 18. Her mouth, biting her lower lip in concentration. They’re pink and full and he likes the way they look wrapped softly around a cigarette. But he’d never tell her that. She moves on to a set of carrots, chopping way too fast and breaking him out of his thoughts. </p><p>“Whoa! Are you crazy? You’re gonna take your own fingers off!” Nero starts, coming to her side in a flurry. He shows her how to safely cut the carrots, one hand on her chopping hand and the other coaxing the hand holding the carrots to roll her fingers under so she can’t accidentally cut her nails or fingertips. “See? Just like that, alright?”<br/>
She can feel him exhale at the nape of her neck. Suddenly she’s so conscious of being in her own skin. “Uhh! I-- I gotta--” She drops the knife, “Smoke break!”<br/>
It’s easy to recall all the times she’s felt this: loaded gazes while arguing about something stupid, conversation pauses where they’re leaning in close over the van’s engine, grazing fingers and legs while working in the garage. The cool air breaks across her face and it’s just what she needs to shock her out of her own head. She lights up and puffs away. She’s done it a lot lately, to run away from these moments. </p><p>“May I join you?” </p><p>“You don’t smoke,” It’s funny how Nico hadn’t even heard the back door open. She sighs softly, not expecting Kyrie of all people. Kyrie doesn’t like it when she smokes, hardly ever joins her outside.</p><p>“No, no. I know.” </p><p>“Want me to put it out?” </p><p>“Mmm, no.” </p><p>Nico raises an eyebrow, blowing smoke away from Kyrie where she’s perched lightly on the back step by her side. “You been actin’ real strange.” </p><p>“So have you.” Kyrie smiles, but it’s not a happy one. “Like right now, Nero’s worried he’s done something to make you mad.” She pauses, “Well, he won’t say he’s worried, but.” </p><p>Not knowing what to say, Nico takes another long drag on her cigarette. She hides behind it, feeling the push and pull of smoke in her lungs.</p><p>“Do you have feelings for anyone?” </p><p>Nico coughs, “Wh— what ? Fuck no, I don’t. I--I dont know why you’d e-even ask!”</p><p>“He looks at you too, you know.”</p><p>“W...what?” </p><p>“I recognize it. It’s how he started looking at me back when we were teenagers.” </p><p>Nico puffs nervously on her smoke, “W-what are you talkin’ about?”</p><p>“I think he feels bad about it.” She looks contemplative, something like resolve forming in her eyes. “It’s okay, you know?”</p><p>“No, I don’t know. C-could you please start talkin’ sense?” She hates this stutter. She wishes she could kill her father for it, but that work’s been done already.</p><p>“Nico,”  </p><p>Nico stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray on the step. “I--I really dont— I don’t know wh-what you’re talkin’ about!”</p><p>Kyrie smiles quietly at her feet, looking like there’s more that she’d like to say. </p><p>“Kyrie, you…” Nico can’t help but stare and searches clumsily for words. She recalls all the times Kyrie has cared for her: Knowing exactly how she takes her coffee, placing a blanket over her when she’s fallen asleep on the couch or in the garage, always looking out for when she might need a little encouragement even though Nico’s too prideful to admit it. She can feel it again, suddenly and gently: Kyrie’s soft touch the night they drank together. Nico’s eyes widen. “Kyrie do you--?”</p><p>Kyrie’s smile doesn’t falter, still looking down. She nods. </p><p>Nico just about faints. </p><p> </p><p>Nico claims she’s tired and going to bed early without dinner, but Nero notices Kyrie sneak her a plate. Something is up, but he can’t put it together. Just what had happened outside? Could he have done something wrong? Did he fuck up? Usually with Nico, he knows. Like one of Kyrie’s dramatic houseplants, Nico will wilt and fuss the moment she has a problem. It’s the bane of his existence, frankly. But for the first time, he’s realizing how much that fuss feels like home. This quiet shit? This jumping and avoiding shit? It’s confusing. He wants to ask Kyrie, glances up at her over the stove when she comes to pour herself a glass of water. But then the boys are running in and she’s mouthing “later” to a question that he never gets to ask.<br/>
The kids are a welcome distraction, telling them all about their day at school. They're growing so quickly, he can hardly believe it. Nero pushes forward, teasing them and making sure they get washed up properly for bed, until he finds himself in bed, too. He sighs, awake and staring at the ceiling. Kyrie’s fallen asleep on her side, the book she’s been reading still in her hand. Everything feels so normal, and yet. </p><p>Gently, gently, Nero gets up and sneaks out to the garage. On nights like this, he finds comfort in the familiar. He works on Blue Rose, disassembling her and cleaning her out. She doesn’t exactly need it yet, but it’s something to do with his hands. It occupies his thoughts, at least a little, even though he could probably do this with his eyes closed. Her smooth metal planes are cool to the touch, the sound of crickets wrapping all around him. The routine is simple, grounding him in the present and allowing him to breathe a little easier.</p><p>“Can’t sleep?”</p><p>He jumps, “O-oh. Uh...nah.”</p><p>Of course, Kyrie stands in the doorway. The hall light illuminates her from behind, a halo pressing forward and caressing each soft tendril of hair on her precious head. It would be easy to compare her to fine art. The Venus Di Milo, or something. He doesn’t know much about shit like that, but he knows something beautiful when he sees it. She moves quietly forward, draping herself over his shoulders from behind. He returns to working, and she watches for a while. Finally, she speaks. </p><p>“I woke up and I can’t seem to go back to sleep myself.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” He stops working on the gun, moving to gingerly hold one of her hands. He kisses the back of her palm softly. </p><p>She hums a bit, pleased at the gesture. “We should probably talk, huh?” Taking a seat at a stool beside him, she lifts her nightdress so it doesn’t drag along the floor. She’s always been such a graceful person. </p><p>“Hm? About what?” </p><p>Kyrie laughs, quietly. It’s not mean or judgmental. It rings out with an unfamiliar lilt, something he hasn’t heard from her before. “About us.” </p><p>Nero’s eyes widen. </p><p>“No, no. Please don’t worry.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, sweetly. Comforting. “I’m in love with you, Nero. And I always will be.”</p><p>Even after all these years, he still blushes at that just a little. “Then what’s…?” </p><p>She sighs, “When I say we need to talk about us, I mean that we need to talk about all of us.”</p><p>“Is...is something wrong with the kids?”</p><p>“No, thank goodness. I mean Nico. We need to talk about us...and Nico.”</p><p>He freezes, an uncertainty painting his gaze. He tucks a piece of hair behind Kyrie’s ear and feels his heart stutter painfully. Have they done something wrong? Oh shit. Are they spending too much time together? Is she worried? “Kyrie, I-- Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. I promise you... There’s nothing going on between--”</p><p>“Nero. Nero, look at me.” The tone in her voice gets him to quiet down. “I see the way you look at her sometimes,” He looks like he’s about to speak. She holds a finger up to stop him. “I see it because...sometimes I look at her like that, too.”</p><p>He can’t understand what she’s saying. Bewildered, he knits his brows. “What?” </p><p>“I wanted to talk to you about this for a while now, but I wasn’t sure the best time to bring it up. Or how to even start. Do you remember what a wreck you were when she got hurt a few weeks ago? That look on your face like...like you were in so much pain even though you weren’t the one who was injured? You look at her with the softest eyes when she’s fallen asleep at the workbench. You remember her order at the burger place perfectly. You let her borrow your clothes. I--”</p><p>“No! Kyrie! I would never cheat on you!”</p><p>“I know that, silly!” She half laughs, moving to hold his face in her hands. They’re so warm. “I know you. You’re the man I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with. You’re stubborn and rough, but you have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. You would never cheat on me and you would never do something to hurt me. But...honey…”<br/>
He can hardly believe what she’s implying. Him? Nico? There’s no way he--! He can hardly fathom the notion. But despite himself, memories come flooding back: Soft smiles, affectionate catfights, the delicious tingles he gets down his spine when she playfully musses his hair. He’s explained it all away before, but when they all are added up together, the complete picture is… He freezes again. Kyrie<br/>
said she looks at Nico like that too, sometimes. He...he hadn’t even noticed. </p><p>“Does that…? Do you?” He questions, unhelpfully.</p><p>“Do I what?” Her smile has changed now, like she’s leading him to something.</p><p>“You think I’m…? A-and you’re…?”</p><p>“Nero, honey.” She shakes her head, trying to be patient. “We’re both in love with Nico Goldstein.”</p><p>“Oh, shit.” </p><p>A crash sounds, causing them both to jump. </p><p>“Oh SHIT.” A voice hisses from the doorway.</p><p>“Oh SHIT.” Nero echoes. </p><p>Frenzied, Nico looks helplessly between them and the glass of water she’s dropped to the concrete floor. “I-- I’m sorry-- I was just-- I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d-- oh shit, I dropped my water. Oh shit, y’all are-- oh shit. Oh fuck. D-did y’all just say? Oh shit.” Of course, she’d tinker in the garage on a sleepless night too. She shifts anxiously, turning red. “I-- Oh shit. I can go. I can go now. But I gotta clean this up first, I--” </p><p>“Nico,” Kyrie sounds so soft. Nico freezes. “Don’t worry, we can clean that up in a bit. Come here.”</p><p>Nero’s heart feels like it might just explode in his chest. Is this allowed? Are they going to freak her out? And once again, is this allowed? Nico obeys, because she’d do anything Kyrie says. Kyrie softly takes her hand, blinking up at her with that serene smile on her face. </p><p>“Let’s talk about us.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me at @eatingpeachpits on twitter if you'd like garbage delivered free of charge directly to your timeline.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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